Room Service
by ThePro-LifeCatholic
Summary: After the events of Human Nature and Family of Blood, the Doctor takes Martha to a fancy hotel to relax and recover. But not everything is as it seems at this place. An ominous-sounding "Taskmaster", strange spices, and a spunky young staff-member by the name of "Oswald Oswin" may hold the answer to the mystery that surrounds this hotel. RATED FOR CHARACTER DEATH.
1. The Oncoming Souffle

" **There she is!" you're probably thinking. "About time, too!"**

…

 **Yes, I know; I'm an awful person for not updating in weeks/months/years/however long it's been. But here's my honest opinion on the whole matter (just bear with me, readers).**

 **I like to write. And even more than writing, I like making up the ideas for stuff I'm writing, did write, am going to write in the sequel (even though I haven't started the first story yet). I make up the dialogue, introduce the main characters (as well as any OCs of mine), set up the main theme, produce the main conflict, ect. Smaller details come out when I'm writing.**

 **HOWEVER…I have a slight problem. I finish making up the story, and jump immediately to the next one. Without really stopping to finish the one before it. So I decided upon a plan; I would write the whole story, and THEN I would post it as a complete story. I may post the chapters at once, or one a day, depending on the length of the story and how much I want to post the next one.**

 **So…there you guys go. That's how I'll be going from now on; posting complete stories, and then letting some time pass while I write the next one. This doesn't pertain to my series of Doctor Who one-shots** _ **Bringing the Cool (and the Sandshoes and the Fantastic, Apparently**_ _ **)**_ **, because that's a one-shot fic that I'm updating sporadically.**

 **Anywho, enough of my rants. Let's get on with the story!**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **-ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

A blue vest was slipped over a black dress with a white apron. Spotless white gloves were pulled onto recently washed hands (they still smelled like the lavender-pear soap). Brown hair fell down, abruptly ending just beneath the shoulders. The young woman (hardly more than a girl) pulled a handheld mirror out of her pocket, deftly applying lipstick and mascara. Back went the mirror; the girl completed her work with a blue hat (it was the same shade of blue as the vest). Satisfied with her appearance, she glanced around the empty hallway, drumming gloved fingers on the wooden desktop in front of her.

"Why does working in a hotel have to be so _boring!_ " she sighed to no one. "Seriously, front-desk-check-in duty has to be the worst, most boring job of them all," she muttered. Suddenly she straightened, sniffing the air. Then her brown eyes nearly popped and she turned in the direction of the kitchen.

"My soufflé!" she gasped. She glanced around, willing some other worker to appear. This usually didn't work, but today was a lucky day for her. The front door opened, and one of the cleaning girls, Mave, walked in, lugging some cumbersome grocery-bags behind her.

"Mave!" the brown-eyed girl leaped over the well-polished desktop. "I need you to take over the front desk for me. I know it's my shift but I can take the groceries to the kitchen and I-"

"You don't even need to finish, Oswald." The other girl reached out, taking hold of the hat and vest and beginning to put them on. "You've left a soufflé in the oven too long again, haven't you?"

"You're the best, Mave!" Oswald called, grabbing the bags and starting off at a quick trot. She flew past the rooms, the burning smell tickling her nose and getting stronger with every second. She burst into the kitchen, the swinging doors banging against the wall. Several girls and one boy huddled around the oven, watching black smoke seep through the door.

"Coming through!" Oswald stuffed her hands into mitts and opened the oven. Reaching forward, she snatched the pan and its black contents and ran to the exit door (placed on the other end of the kitchen, leading out to the back of the hotel building). Flinging it open wide, she flung the burnt dessert forward…and watched with horror as it splatted against a man's suit.

"Sorry!" she yelled, before slamming the door and leaning against it, panting. One of the girls was shooting a white spray into the oven. The smoke cleared, and the burnt smell was replaced with a fresh scent of apple and honey. Every occupant of the kitchen was currently staring at Oswald.

"Well," one of the older girls placed her hands on her hips. Her gold hair was pinned up, her green eyes flashing with contempt. "Thanks for that, _Oswald._ Now we have to clear up your mess. I would ask you to do it yourself, but don't you have front-desk duty right now?"

Oswald would've loved to snap something witty, to shut the other girl up, but all she could do was flash her a killer look and race from the kitchen. Mave breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Oswald round the corner.

"I thought the Taskmaster was going to catch you," she sighed, handing over the vest and hat.

"Nah; I'm too clever," Oswald grinned, trying to regain a calm composure. "Thanks again, Mave."

The other girl simply nodded before rushing off to a new task. Oswald sighed, brushing through her hair with her fingers. Just then, the front door opened, and two figures, a man and a black woman, approached the desk.

"Two rooms, please," the man said, pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket with a flourish. "I think you'll find that we have reservations."

Oswald took the paper and looked it over. Sure enough, two first-class rooms for a Mr. Smith and Ms. Jones.

"Alrighty, then," she turned around and bent under the desk. "Here you go; your room key-cards. And I'll send someone to get your luggage and bring it to your rooms…" she trailed off, staring at the gentleman. She had never seen him before, but there was no denying the fact that his blue suit had a large mark on it, similar to a grease stain. He followed her gaze and grinned.

"Oh, that. I had an unfortunate encounter with a very well-done delight," he reached down, grabbing his bag and the bag of the girl's. "Now, Ms. Jones, shall I escort you to your room?" The girl laughed.

"Of course, Mr. Smith."

The two started off, in the direction of the elevator. Oswald strained to look after them. There was something about them, especially the man, that intrigued her.

"Dinner's at 5!" she yelled at the last moment. The man turned back.

"Thank you, miss…"

"Oswald. Oswald Oswin."

"Oswald," he grinned and winked. "See you around, Oswald."

Then they stepped into the elevator and were gone. Oswald's smile died with sudden realization.

"He knows it's me," she murmured to the empty room. She was doomed.

* * *

 **Yep! Clara's gonna be in this one (or should I say, "Oswald"). I made up this story with the help of my younger sister (she's helped me with some of the other stories, if you want to check up on my account). Also, there are going to be a lot of OCs, but they're all minor characters. And yes; there are going to be a bunch of made up planets and systems (OK; actually, more like four, which isn't a whole lot at all).**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed!**


	2. Forgive and Forget

**So here's the next chappie! Thanks for bearing with me through the ranting and the first chapter. I promise that stuff will get more exciting! And you're probably thinking "wait, wouldn't Eleven remember this (if it was canon)?" Don't worry, ya'll. To quote Peter Quill,**

" **I have…a part of a plan!"**

 **And I know that I meant to update this story every Saturday, but I'm going somewhere with family tomorrow. And I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for two weeks without an update.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

"Here you are," the Doctor handed Martha her suitcase. "Anything else?"

Martha Jones looked around the room. "No," she shook her head and grinned. The Doctor smiled in response. Martha hadn't been herself lately, ever since their most recent adventure. That had been his fault (not surprising). He had turned himself into a human, not even taking into account how hard it would be for Martha to take of him. And of all times, it had to be in the years before blacks were as respected as whites! Looking back on it, he could've punched himself a billion times for being so careless. But nothing could hold his Martha down, not forever. To see her smiling for real after these past few days brought him immense relief.

"Take some time to relax," he continued. "I'll be seeing you at around 5 downstairs for dinner, yeah?"

"Got it," she responded.

"And don't do anything if you don't have to," he waggled his finger at her in mock warning, "No one here will be treating you as inferior, Martha; not if I can help it." He smirked, but she could see the seriousness in his eyes. Her own smile faded.

"Don't worry, Doctor; I'll be fine." She picked up her bag. "And none of it was your fault; you know that, right?"

"Yeah; 'course I do." He wasn't sure if he meant it, or if he was saying this for her sake. Most likely the latter.

"Just forget about it," she added, smiling brightly. "See you at dinner." She shut the door, leaving the Doctor standing outside. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stared at the wooden obstacle, thoughts churning. Finally, he turned and began walking to his own room, which was located at the opposite end of the hall. If only forgetting was as easily said as done, he mused ruefully.

* * *

"I'm dooooooooomed," Oswald moaned dejectedly, throwing herself onto a fluffy, expensive couch in the hotel lobby.

"Really," the other girl sitting across from her didn't even blink. "You know what's even more unsettling for me? The fact that you managed to sound just as doleful now as you did the last ninety-seven times you told me that." Oswald rolled over, glaring at the girl.

"You're not helping, Cat," she mumbled.

Catherine "Cat" was one of the long-staying workers at the hotel, and Oswald's closest friend. She was a humanoid species, her most obvious differences being her naturally pink-tinged hair, and her flexibility, which far exceeded the human body's limitations. This allowed her to dance quite brilliantly; in fact, she was part of the dinner entertainment. She would dance on a stage as the guests ate their evening meal.

"You'll be fine, Ozzy," Catherine said reassuringly, "there's no way he could've known it was you. You go way too fast for anyone to know, no matter how good their eyesight might be. And if he's humanoid, which he sounds like one, then his eyesight is worse than most species. You'll be fine." Oswald lifted her head.

"You really think so?"

"I know so." Cat tried to smile, but it was as if the ends of her mouth refused to turn up.

"What's wrong?" Oswald asked.

"The Taskmaster was displeased with my last performance," Cat explained. "He may never let me dance again. If I can't dance, I don't know what I'll do." She sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Cat." Ozzy rubbed her friend's back. "Maybe I can talk to him. He usually listens to me."

"Would you? Oh, Ozzy, that would be magnificent!" Cat's face lit up, and she squeezed Oswald. "And you'll talk to him about your rehearsal, right? That's coming up, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," Ozzy trailed off. "I just don't know _how_ to ask him. And what if he refuses?"

"You're better off than me, anyway," Cat said bitterly. "At least you get to leave at the end of the year."

Oswald looked questioningly at Catherine.

"My father sent a letter," Cat hissed. "He needs me to stay here another term. Says he can't afford to lose my payment right now."

"That's awful!" Ozzy exclaimed. "How long has he been doing that to you? How long have you been here already? Haven't you been working here long enough?"

Cat shrugged.

"Honestly, I don't know how long I've been here," she muttered. "And that's too long for me. It all starts to pass in a blur, you know?" She got off the couch. "Well, I've got to finish dusting. Can't let the Taskmaster catch you not doing any work."

"Speaking of the Taskmaster, I should go find him now and ask him," Oswald stood up. "The sooner I do it, the faster it's done and over with."

"Don't forget to ask about your rehearsal," Cat jabbed her duster in Oswald's direction.

"I won't," Ozzy promised as she left the room. She walked down the hallway, swinging her arms back and forth, letting her feet drag. As much as she wanted (and needed) to talk to the Taskmaster about Cat's dancing position, she was in no hurry to see him.

"It's not fair that Cat should stay for so long," she told no one in particular. "Why, she's been here for longer than I have! Let's see; I came here for my first term when I was, well, in the year…" her feet felt leaden, her arms dropped to her sides. She stood still in the hallway, letting her thoughts drift. She started shuffling along, mind racing. Her breath came quick, and she felt cold, although she couldn't quite explain why. But she knew one thing for certain.

She had no idea when she had first come to the hotel.

* * *

 **So…yeah. Enjoy, I guess. I hope I left some elements of suspense and mystery for you guys to dwell on until the next chapter comes around.**


	3. A Simple Request

**The adventure continues! I hope you guys are enjoying this. It seems to be more of Clara's (Oswald's) story, with the Doctor and Martha making a cameo.**

 ***shrugs***

 **Anyhoo, let's get on with it, shall we? The "Taskmaster" will be getting introduced in this chapter, and some other characters will be making their "grand début" in this story, also. Let's see if you guys can figure out who (or what) they are. *hint: they don't actually appear in this chapter. I think it's the next one***

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

As the clock ticked closer and closer to dinnertime, Martha got off the comfortable couch in her room and changed into a more formal outfit. A nice purple dress; not too fancy, but not too casual. Comfy, but definitely not something she'd simply wear "around the house". Perfect. Pulling open the door, she walked down the carpeted hallway, her kitty heels not making a sound. She stepped into the elevator, punching the "lobby" button. The lift began its smooth descent.

* * *

"Taskmaster, sir?" Oswald's voice was squeakier than what she had originally intended it to sound.

The Taskmaster was the hotel owner; at least, that's what Oswald and all the rest of the hotel staff were inclined to believe. He wasn't actually humanoid, despite his human appearance. He was a shifter-species of some kind; able to take on a limited number of forms. However, his humanoid skin was the one he most frequently used. He stood tall, foreboding. His face was set, his jaw angular, his short black hair slicked back. His eyes were a light shade of green, contrasting sharply with the dark tone which the rest of his form possessed. He turned at the sound of Oswald's voice, looking down into her face. And suddenly Oswald felt much less clever than she usually did.

"I…uh," she stammered over the words. The Taskmaster tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Yes, Oswald?" It surprised the maid how smooth and gentle he could sound at times.

"I was wondering, I mean, I heard about Cat…Catherine, I mean. I know she messed up on her last performance, but I was thinking that maybe you could give her another chance, maybe." Oswald felt a tinge of red creeping up her face as she stumbled over her simple request.

"You really think Catherine should have another go?" he asked. "After all, she did mess up. You said so yourself."

"Yes!" Oswald exclaimed. "She's _amazing._ She's a spectacular dancer; you yourself know how good she is. There's not one other maid or servant who can top her. _You_ know that." Oswald took a deep breath, hoping her final phrase hadn't sounded too brash.

"Maybe you're right, Oswald," he agreed, nodding slowly. "Alright; I'll give her one more chance. You can let her know that she'll be part of the dinner entertainment tonight."

"Thanks," Oswald paused, shifting from foot to foot.

"Was there something else you needed, Oswald?" he asked.

"Actually, yes," she confessed, twiddling her fingers anxiously. "There is a rehearsal for a play coming up this Somer's-Day, and I've had lots of people telling me that I should try out for one of the parts. I want to try out for the part myself. I've given speeches and recitations during the dinner entertainment before, and it's always received so well. I thought that maybe, since it's a festival day, that I could…try…for a part…" Her words faded to silence. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest. Two requests at once? No wonder none of the other hotel staff thought she'd live long with this job.

"Yes, Somer's-Day _is_ a holiday," the Taskmaster repeated, "but that means that more people will be coming to our hotel. I'm going to need most of the staff present and on-hand, if not all of it."

"I know that," Oswald interjected. "But the crowds are biggest at dinner-time and sun-down. During the day, everyone's at the festival! The rehearsal's in the afternoon. If I came right from that to the hotel, I'm sure that there would be enough time for me to get changed and ready for the crowds."

"You would miss the festival for a play rehearsal?"

"Yes, sir."

The Taskmaster looked her up and down without saying anything for a moment.

"You're very persistent," he finally noted. Oswald couldn't help the small smile.

"I got that from my mom," she replied. He titled his head to one side as she said this, an unreadable expression coming over his face.

"If you know you can be back in time," he said slowly, relishing her anguished expression, "then I don't see why you can't go."

Oswald stood in breathless silence, too relieved, pleased, and surprised to do anything for a moment.

"Thank you, sir," she breathed, turning and rushing off to her next chore before he could change his mind.

"How can he be so cruel and yet so benevolent when it fancies him?" she wondered aloud, practically flying down the hallway. She couldn't believe it! Her chance was here! "In celebration," she practically yelled, "I'm going to be giving my newest recitation tonight during dinner! Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!" she called loudly, searching for her friend. She could hardly wait to tell Catherine the amazing news.

* * *

 **So, yeah. There you guys go. Yes; there will actually be more of the Doctor and Martha, in case that's what you're wondering right now. They're going to be in the next chapter, promise. And they're not just going to be riding elevators.**


	4. Not as it Seems

**Blum, blum, blum…**

 **Hey, all! Thanks for taking the time to read this story! We're sort of moving our way into some action now; sorry about the hold-up. Actually, not that sorry. I needed to set up the "background" of the story, if you will. So I introduced all my characters and whatnot; actually, there's one more major character (who actually has a name) that I need to introduce. And it will be in the next chapter, actually. So hold on for this chapter and the next one! Hope you're enjoying this story so far!**

 **(quite honestly, I can't wait to be done with this one because I have several other ones that I'm going to enjoy typing much more than this one. I have several ideas and I'm so hyped with where they're leading me)**

 **Oh, and on a sidenote, guess what movie** _ **this**_ **fanfiction writer went and saw just the other night (April 30, Thursday)? (now that I'm posting this, it's been a while. Just bear with me)**

 **THAT'S RIGHT. AGE OF ULTROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON! IT WAS SOOOO GOOD! SERIOUSLY, IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT, THEN GO WATCH IT! IT WAS SUCH AN INCREDIBLE FILM (then again, it** _ **is**_ **Marvel…).**

 **So, yeah. Go watch it if you haven't, and if you haven't seen any Marvel films yet, go watch those before you watch Age of Ultron. Actually, the minimum that you should watch would be** **Captain America: the First Avenger** **,** **Thor** **,** **Iron Man I** **,** **II** **, and possibly** **III** **(because the ending of the last one is kind of important), the first** **Avengers** **film,** **Thor: the Dark World** **(because it's waaaaaay better than the first one was), and** **Captain America: the Winter Soldier** **(and then watch** **Guardians of the Galaxy** **for good measure). I know that sounds like a lot, but if you really start liking Marvel, it doesn't seem like a lot once you get through them. Seriously, Marvel does an amazing job with their movies and characters. Yes, Age of Ultron did have some unsavory parts that I didn't like at all, but I'm not going to discuss those here. All in all, it was a wonderful film, and if anyone else out there has seen it, let me know what you liked and who your favorite character(s) was/were.**

 ***coughcoughScarletWitchandQuicksilvercough***

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

The dinner entertainment group was lined up for inspection. Among the small number of talented hotel staff were Catherine and Oswald. In front of the line-up stood the Taskmaster, pacing back and forth slowly in front of them. To anyone passing by, it looked like an ordinary, before-the-show-starts inspection. A closer look, however, would show something different. Despite the calm demeanor of both the Taskmaster and the staff, the workers were trembling slightly. Oswald was doing her best to keep her breathing steady, and Catherine stared at the wall, fists clenched, hardly blinking. The girl with the gold hair (the one who had snapped at Oswald earlier about her burnt soufflé) seemed to be the only one staying calm. She was one of the oldest hotel staff, and quite recently, the Taskmaster seemed to have been taking a liking to her. At any rate, she was more at home in the presence of the Taskmaster than anyone else assembled. His pacing halted, his dark eyes darted from face to face. Silently, he took in their expressions, clothing, makeup; with slow, deliberate steps, he walked to the far end of the line.

"Mabline," his voice slipped smoothly, but the glint in his eyes was a dangerous one. "The rest of you can go," the Taskmaster ordered, raising his voice. "But Mabline, you stay here."

The rest of the group scuttled off towards the dining room, obviously relieved that it wasn't them. Oswald was the only one to cast a glance behind her, back at poor Mabline and the Taskmaster. She had never been singled out before, but she had heard the stories from other staff members. It wasn't something you strove to do.

As she looked back over her shoulder, Oswald watched as the Taskmaster raised his arm. When he did this, his arm changed in appearance, shifting from a human-like arm to a grayish-green color, with small, blunt spikes running up and down the whole of it to the wrist. Mabline cowered under the blow that was sure to come.

" _OI!_ "

The very loud guttural phrase caused Mabline, the Taskmaster, and Oswald to jump in their respective places.

"You!" the strange voice continued, and from out of nowhere, a hand grabbed the descending arm. The Taskmaster found himself face-to-face with a tall, skinny humanoid. Brown eyes bored holes into his own pale green ones.

"There's no need for that," the stranger continued. His voice was soft, a thin veil covering an underlying threat. The tense standoff lasted for a few seconds. The Taskmaster lowered his arm, and Mabline peeked out from her hands. The other man nodded and brushed his suit off. He glanced at Mabline and winked. Oswald watched from behind the wall intensely. No more words were said; the stranger walked towards the lifts, his strides long and even. Oswald backed down the hall and rushed to catch up with the other servants, hardly able to contain her story.

Mabline stood, confused and trembling, waiting for the Taskmaster's reaction. Finally he absent-mindedly waved her off. She dashed into the hall, not waiting for his temper to show. The Taskmaster stood alone in the middle of the hall, his humanoid form creeping over the spikes until they were unable to be seen. His gaze wandered down the stretch of carpet, trailing after the stranger. His face twisted into a glower and he stalked stiffly towards the dining room.

* * *

Martha scanned the room, shifting in her chair. She had to agree with the Doctor; this place _was_ pretty "fancy-shmancy"; or at least, that's how he had put it. Every floor was covered in soft, springy carpeting. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling like stalactites. In the dining room alone, the chairs were comfortable, with cushion-like seats and backing. The tables were deep brown, polished, with spotless white tablecloths grazing the floor. Candles flickered on every table, and the room was filled with the aroma of fresh flowers, which were sitting in clear glass vases on the tables.

She grinned when the Doctor came in, and started towards their table. The black suit looked a little odd on him, and it brought out his skinniness more than ever. His hair stuck up crazily on his head, and she noticed that, despite how formal the rest of his outfit was, he was sporting a pair of worn, dark-blue converse.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, sliding into the seat closest to her own.

"Oh yeah," she laughed. The Doctor smiled in return, then turned his gaze to the rest of the room. A random assortment of aliens, humanoid and non-humanoid populated the room. At the table directly to the right of their own, four humanoid aliens, three male and one female, were seated. They were swathed in dark garments, three of them with skin tinted pale blue. Silver accessories glittered on their wrists, fingers, and around their necks. The girl swiveled her head as he looked at them, her dark eyes meeting his own. Her full face turned in his direction, the Doctor could see a black mark, slightly faded and smudged, painted around the right eye, spiking out in several places, and creeping down towards her neck. He smiled amicably, and she snapped her head back to the other three at her table. They began murmuring in low voices.

"Well," the Doctor turned towards Martha, "we've certainly got friendly company here."

"Don't bother," Martha told him. "Those ones got on the elevator with me when I was coming down here. It was like going from a tropical island to Antarctica in five seconds." She decided against mentioning the choking feeling in her throat the whole way down, and the light in the lift fizzing in and out.

"What's that, then?" the Doctor changed the subject, motioning towards the raised platform that protruded out of one of the walls.

"I think it's the dinner-entertainment stage…thing." Martha handed her friend a pamphlet. "It says in here that they have performers who put on little shows and acts while the guests are eating. Or at least, for the first-class guests, anyway."

"Another plus for us, then," the Doctor noted.

"Definitely," Martha agreed as several women walked out of a side door and began placing plates of food before everyone.

A small girl, probably no more than eight or ten, climbed up on the stage, her voice quivering as she addressed the crowd,

"The entertainment will now commmm….commm…..begin!" She turned paler and scuttled off of the stage as the lights dimmed.

* * *

 **Yay! Another *boring* chapter out of the way! Don't worry, though; action will actually start happening in the next one. Seriously, you guys.**


	5. Run and Remember

**Helloooooooooooo, everybody! Thanks SOOOOOOOOOOO much for all the new followers and/or comments! My day is SO much better, even if there's just one new comment or follower! Thanks for making me smile, you guys.**

 **Enjoying this so far? Yeah; thought not. *smirks* But I'll let you know right now that I'm not even bovvered. Not even the slightest bit. But now this chapter will actually show us (and by us, I mean you readers) the beginning of the main plot (actually, the plot was already sort of introduced, but now I'm going to be clearing it up and beginning to reveal it to you in a more obvious way).**

 **Like I said in the chapter before this one, there is another *slightly* secondary character who is going to be introduced in this chapter, and then I think that's it for this story. I mean, other people may be mentioned here and there, but I'm not going into detail with them. They're just gonna be there, if you know what I mean.**

 **Anyhoo, enough of my ranting. I've got a story to type, school to do, life to live, things I can't afford on Etsy to look at, and pins to attach to every board on my Pinterest account.**

 ***whew* I've got so much to do. I don't know how I manage to get it all done.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

Oswald peered through the curtains at the audience. Her breath was coming fast, perspiration stuck out in small beads on her skin. Her stomach was beginning to flip, growing warmer within her by the second. Stepping away from the velvet folds of cloth, she inhaled deeply, trying to push any distracting thoughts from her mind **.**

"Hey, Ozzy," a voice crooned behind her. With a gasp, she wheeled 'round to see the speaker. When she realized his identity, the initial shock vanished.

"Hey Trence," she muttered, her face twisting into an exasperated frown.

"Nice to see you too," he retorted, smiling an easy smile and running his four-fingered hand through thick black hair. Oswald turned back to the curtains, squirming uncomfortably under the male worker's intense gaze.

"I brought something for you," he said finally, shattering the uneasy silence. Rotating her body towards him, she saw that he was holding a book towards her. Taking it slowly, not meeting his eyes, she examined the cover.

"Baking and cooking tips and secrets," she murmured. He grinned, sticking his hands into his pants pockets.

"Thought you'd enjoy that, since you spend so much spare time ruining things in the kitchen."

"Does the Taskmaster know you got this?"

"No, course not. And even if he did, what's he gonna do; confiscate it? Take away my dessert for a week?"

Oswald glanced around anxiously.

"What if he hears you talking like that? You'll lose a lot more than just your dessert."

Trence chuckled.

"I'm too valuable for him to throw out. I'm not expecting him to pick up heavy loads himself anytime soon." Spinning on his heel, he ambled off, taking long, easy strides. Oswald sighed as she looked after him.

"Hi, Ozzy." The new speaker was Catherine. She was sporting a short, light purple dress, perfect for her dancing performance. A long, thin scarf was wrapped around her shoulders. "I see Trence isn't giving you up anytime soon."

"Quit it, Cat. I'm not interested, and the sooner he realizes that, the sooner he'll leave me alone," Ozzy snapped, feeling a flush creep up her face.

"Well, if it's any comfort to you, Trence isn't the only one who seems a bit taken," Cat pushed back the curtain folds. "I've got my eyes on foxy, there."

"Foxy? You mean the one who stopped Mabline from getting a beating?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"But he's a guest. A first-class guest. And you're just hotel-staff."

"I know," Cat sighed. "Just like another Cinderella story, isn't it? Still…" she grinned mischievously. "I've got the perfect way to get a bit closer to him before the night is over." She swung the scarf around. Oswald's eyes widened, and she nodded in realization.

"I don't see the harm in that, Cat. After all, your surprise partner dance always pleases _someone_ in the audience." The two fell quiet as the lights dimmed.

"Better get to our places," Catherine whispered, and the two rushed to finish last-minute preparations for their performances.

* * *

The girl with golden-blonde hair went first. Crystalline by name, her talents seemed to rest primarily in her looks and in her voice. Honey-golden notes spilled from her mouth and wafted through the room. The guests listened as they ate, some of them humming along or singing quietly if they knew the words. As the last notes died into silence, applause rang from all corners of the room. The Doctor and Martha clapped the loudest of all. With a well-rehearsed curtsey, Crystalline left the stage. Martha dug into the rich food on her plate.

"This is delicious," she said through a mouthful. The Doctor nodded as he took a large bite from his own platter.

"A bit heavy on the spices, though," he commented. There was an odd aftertaste, no doubt from too many spices in his own meal, but he couldn't quite make out what it tasted like. He chewed slowly, lost in thought.

The curtains were again pulled back, revealing a girl in a short dress, a scarf clenched tightly in her hands. Pink hair was pulled back into a tight bun. With a bright smile, she bowed towards the audience, dropping her scarf on the floor as she did so. From an unknown source, a lively tune began to play. As the first notes started, the girl was transformed. From quiet and stock-still, she bent and twisted, contorting herself into impossible shapes as she spun across the stage. Guests hardly stopped to take a bight of food, lest they should look away from this fantastic spectacle for even a moment.

About halfway through the dance, the girl bent back, nearly folding in on herself, and grabbed up the scarf. She twirled it around herself as she danced, not missing a single step. Several spectators applauded. However, no one was expecting the girl to fly from the stage, still dancing, and make her way through the tables. She stopped for a single moment, standing directly in front of Martha and the Doctor's table. With a wide smile, she wrapped the scarf around his arm, and pulled. With a cry of alarm and confusion, the Doctor was yanked from his chair and guided to the stage. Clapping turned to laughter as Catherine swung the poor humanoid around the platform, not losing a beat, never missing a step. As the song neared its conclusion, she managed to entangle the Doctor in the scarf. Right as the final notes were sounding, she pulled hard. The Doctor spun around in circles, the scarf undoing itself. Grabbing his arm as the song ended, she steadied him and faced the crowd, beaming. Loud applause and laughter greeted her performance. She bowed low, and released the unsteady Doctor, who slowly made his way back to his seat.

"Your face!" Martha exclaimed, giggling. The Doctor was too flustered to speak.

* * *

"You're next," Cat whispered hoarsely, making her way off the stage.

"Don't I know it," Oswald murmured back.

"You'll do fine," her friend assured her. "Just go out there and do what you do best. You've got this."

"Let's hope you're right about that," Oswald replied, brushing down the red dress.

* * *

Oswald mounted the stage with unsteady steps. Facing the audience, she curtsied stiffly, her eyes roaming the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the Taskmaster. Forcing her thoughts away from his foreboding figure, she searched for a friendly face in the crowd. Her eyes alighted on the Doctor and Martha. Suddenly, she smiled, feeling calm within although her hands still shook. She could do this.

"For you, Mom," he whispered.

" _Run and Remember,_ " she said loudly, clearly. "The author is unkown."

 _"You were a wild thing, a boy intent on chasing down his dreams._

 _Run you boy, like you're always running._

 _You are clever, aren't you? You're amazingly quick and amazingly brilliant."_

The words came pouring out. Her face glowed as she spoke, gaining confidence, growing stronger, the words ringing like bells. Guests stopped eating to hear better.

" _So run you clever boy like you've always done before._

 _You're like fire and ice and rage; you stand like the storm in the heart of the sun.  
You're ancient and forever. You burn at the centre of time and you can see the turn of the universe."_

Martha glanced at the Doctor. It wasn't too long ago that both she and he had heard these words before. Words used to describe the Doctor himself.

" _And you're wonderful._

 _You are a wonderful boy._

 _So run, run you clever boy._

 _But don't you dare forget me, for I never shall forget you._

 _In all your fantasies and dream-lands, I beg, that you return to me some day._

 _You're so forgetful of real life and what it has in store. You're so busy running that sometimes you don't see. You never take a moment to slow down and smell the roses. You never care to watch the clouds. Everything is much too slow for a boy who's always running."_

There was no noise but the sound of Oswald's voice. No eating, no drinking, no random cough or comment. The spectators were transfixed, focusing on nothing but her voice and the words.

" _So run you clever boy!_

 _Run to your ships, to your dreams, to the stars! Run and run till you can't run anymore._

 _Run until there is no more._

 _So run away from your troubles, run away from your nightmares. But realize that, if you're running, no one else can be there. No can keep up with you as shoot off into the blue._

 _There's only one thing that you can do,_

 _Run. Run you clever boy, and remember me."_

There was no noise for several seconds when Oswald was done with her speech. Then one by one, spectators stood up, beginning to clap. When Oswald raised her eyes to the room again, she found herself in the center of a standing ovation. Eyes sparkling, a huge smile on her face, she bowed again and again, retreating from the stage only when the lights dimmed.

"That was good, really good," Martha commented. She and the Doctor had just finished dessert. Several guests stood around, talking to each other about the performance. The Doctor himself was gazing into space, not seeming to hear Martha.

"Hey, you," Martha poked him.

"What?" the Doctor yawned.

"Tired?" Martha asked.

"A little bit," the Doctor lied. He wasn't feeling a little tired, he was feeling _very_ tired. And that wasn't the only thing. There was something off. He couldn't tell what, and his mind was too affected by sudden exhaustion to work it out. Standing up, he stretched and wobbled uncertainly on his feet. He frowned.

"Something's not right," he slurred, blinking.

"You're just tired, that's what," Martha stated. "And as a doctor…or at least, almost doctor, I think the best thing for you right now is rest."

The Doctor opened his mouth to object, and shut it. No use arguing with Martha Jones. And besides, after some sleep, he might be able to figure out what seemed so wrong to him. Pushing back his chair, he took Martha by the arm and led her towards her bedroom.

The room was soon deserted. Empty glasses and plates scraped clean littered the table-tops. The contemptuous four had left sometime during the performance, leaving as silently as they had entered. At their table, the glass cups had been drained dry. But the food remained uneaten on all four plates.

* * *

 **Here we go! Now this story's going somewhere. So, yep. Trence has a crush on Oswald, Cat has taken a liking to the Doctor, and this is the longest chapter yet. Sorry 'bout that.**

 **So…who thinks that the Taskmaster may be up to something not-very-good? Who thinks that the food may be weird? Who thinks that Trence needs to get a life? Who thinks I ask too many questions?**


	6. Love Lost and a Slip of the Tongue

**Chapter six is here, ya'll!**

 **I know it's a bit earlier than usual, but I'm not going to be available this Friday. I don't want to leave you guys hanging for longer than necessary, so I figured I'd post it today.**

 **I'm so 'cited! This story is going better than what I had feared at first; a bit slow in the beginning, but now we're picking up speed from this past chapter, and I hope I can keep it that way until the ending.**

 **Anyhoo, onto the story itself. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed typing it!**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **Jesuslovesmarina: I didn't write the poem. My younger sister typed it up. Thanks for the great comments. :)**

 **33** **Vi:** **Again, the poem isn't mine. Your answers were great, by the way.**

* * *

"Oswald," the Taskmaster's voice purred. Oswald started and spun around smartly on the chair she had been sitting on, standing tall in an instant.

"Yes, Taskmaster, sir?" she asked, wiping her mouth on a silky white napkin. She, along with the rest of the entertainment group, was finishing the last of a late dinner. White noodles with luscious, juicy meat, topped with a tangy orange sauce had been the main course that night. It was washed down with a clear bubbly liquid similar to champagne that made your head buzz and lights swirl after three or four glasses. A generous slice of rich chocolate cake finished off the lavish meal.

"That was a most outstanding performance you put on tonight," he said, watching as the other staff members scraped the remaining crumbs from their plates.

"Thank you, sir," Oswald replied, wondering where the conversation was heading.

"I received many compliments on your act," the Taskmaster continued. "I'll be expecting that level of performance from you much more in the future."

"Yes, Taskmaster," Oswald nodded, not sure if she should feel more flattered or intimidated by this remark.

"Enjoying your meal?" The Taskmaster addressed this question to the whole table. Heads bobbed, and several "yes sirs" echoed from the staff.

"You know…" the Taskmaster began.

 _…Our spices are imported from the Silurian System,_ Oswald chimed in her head. How many times had she heard this boast? She knew that the Silurian System was acclaimed for its expensive spices, but still. A compliment didn't ring as well after several-hundred uses.

"…Our spices are imported from the Silvernian System," the Taskmaster finished.

"Too bad for me," Oswald's response was automatic. "I'm allergic to those, so I can't afford to have any of the great spices put on my food…" she paused. "Don't you mean _Silurian_ System?"

"That's what I said," the Taskmaster smiled. "Now, Oswald, I want you to check the sprinkler system tonight before retiring. Don't do it while the guests are up, mind you. Wait for most of them to be in their rooms, then go from room to room. I don't want the place flooded; I simply want to make sure that the fire safety equipment is in working order. After all, come Somer's Day, with a lot of guests under this roof, we wouldn't want an emergency to take place, and find ourselves unprepared for it."

"Yes, sir," Oswald agreed. She watched the Taskmaster walk away.

 _The Silvernian System?_

She frowned and shook her head. There was something about that name; she knew it from somewhere. She just couldn't place her finger on it. Sighing, she picked up her plate and walked to the kitchen. She didn't have the appetite to finish her meal.

* * *

 _"My Lovely Oswald,_

 _"Where to begin? From the moment I saw you, a small bundle in my arms, I loved you…"_

Oswald swiped a tear from her face. Her throat tightened, making it hard for her to breathe. How many times had she read these letters? How many times had her eyes scanned over the words, hands shaking as he clutched the edges of the paper? Some of the words were smudged, stained by her tears. Every time she read them, a faucet was turned on, and the tears would flow and her throat would choke up.

"Guess that's what happens when you read a letter from your dead mom," she murmured, slipping the paper back into its envelope. Taking a deep breath, she combed her fingers through her hair, and turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Here's the tarp you wanted!" a small voice piped. It was the 10-year-old girl who had announced the beginning of the evening performance. With the help of several older staff members, she was dragging a long piece of black tarp towards Oswald. Several others were lugging large buckets.

"Thanks, Periole," Oswald smiled.

"What's the tarp for?" Periole wanted to know.

"So that way, when we turn on the sprinklers, the carpet doesn't get soaked."

"Oh!" Periole clapped her hands. "You're so clever, Ozzy!"

Oswald grinned.

"I know. I got it from my mom."

The job didn't take too long. With the assistance of the tarp, the only water that needing drying up was the droplets that splashed onto the walls. As they moved from section to section, the staff (mostly girls were doing this job, but several of the boys, including Trence, were present) would pick up the tarp carefully and empty the water into the buckets. Then they would roll it up and move onto the next sprinkler section, while others stayed behind to dry off the walls and anywhere else that got hit with water.

"I think that just about does it for the night," Oswald commented after the last section was completed. "Thanks so much for your help!"

The others smiled and nodded. One by one, the tired staff began to disperse, heading towards the staff lodging, located at the far end of the hotel on the first floor. Trence passed uncomfortably close to Ozzy, murmuring a soft "sleep well" into her ear and flashing her a big grin. Soon, Oswald was the only one standing in the hallway.

She wandered back to where the sprinkler controls on that floor were.

"Better make sure everything's turned off," she said out loud. As she approached the fire-safety control panel, she saw that the Taskmaster was there ahead of her, pushing some buttons.

"Is everything all right, sir?" she asked. The Taskmaster started, turning towards her.

"Everything's fine," he snapped, slamming the panel shut. Pulling a key from his coat pocket, he locked the panel with a click. "Go to bed, Oswald," he ordered, stalking down the hall without another word.

Oswald looked after him, confusion and worry welling up within her. She turned, slowly, in the direction of the elevator. But as she walked, her ears picked up a tiny sound. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, trying to make it out.

"A…sprinkler?" she asked herself, glancing around. The Taskmaster had told her to go to bed. He would not be pleased to find that she had disobeyed him. All the same, she couldn't shake a nagging feeling that she should check out whatever was going on. After all, she _also_ knew that the Taskmaster probably wouldn't enjoy knowing that one of his finest rooms was ruined because it had been drowned in water all night. So she meandered back the way she came, listening to the noise. It kept growing louder and more noticeable until she was standing right in front room 2159. She pressed her head to the door, listening.

"Definitely coming from there," she muttered. Reaching into one of her pockets, Oswald pulled out a skeleton key and fitted it into the lock. With a barely audible "click", the door swung open soundlessly. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called softly. "Anyone in here?"

* * *

 ***hoarse, squeaky whisper***

 **I put a refereeeeeeeeence in this chaaaaaaaaaaaaaapteeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrr! Maybe you can find it. It's something that is going to be used in almost every Doctor Who story that I write after this. :)**


	7. And You Are?

***dramatic voice***

 **The adventure…continues!**

 ***dramatic music plays ominously in the background***

 **OK; so I watched the Season 3 finale of** _ **Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.**_ **two days ago from the day I'm currently typing this chapter, and let's just say that I've been emotionally compromised.**

 **Again.**

 **Note: HUGE SPOLIERS BELOW. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK:**

 **What with Ward, and Agent 33, and Bobbie (Bobby?), and Skye, and HER MOM, and HER DAD AND HE WAS JUST SOOOOOO PRECIOUS AND I DIDN'T WANT ANYTHING BAD TO HAPPEN TO HIM AND WHY COULDN'T HE JUST BE HAPPY AND WITH HIS DAUGHTER AND I JUST CAN'T RIGHT NOW AND OIANB'OIEH OB NIJ GPOERJIOHBOJEOKPOGKLKDNFLK!  
…**

 **Anyhoo, can't wait for Season 4! Oh, yeah; and I totally guessed the ending before it even happened. I totally saw the whole rock-eating-her scene coming from a mile away.**

 **Anyhoo, just out of curiosity, who else out there has seen Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.? If so, who's your favorite character(s)? Shippings? Theories (funny, serious, goofy, canon-ish, completely OOC)?**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

Oswald paused on the threshold of the room, peering inside. Carefully, quietly, she made her way across the floor with almost no noise. It was a spacious room, with a wide, circular living room in the center of the space. Framed pictures hung on the walls, and two couches and a chair were placed in a circular fashion around a red rug. Only when she passed by the larger of the two couches, whose back faced the doorway, did she see the man.

He was sprawled across the whole couch, one leg dangling to the ground, one hand brushing the carpeted floor. His eyes were shut, his breathing slow and even. Brown hair stuck up crazily on his head, and other than the black jacket and tie, he was still dressed in his evening get-up. Even the dark blue shoes were still laced. Oswald smiled, recognizing the man who had done her fellow staff-member a good turn. A second later the smiled vanished, and she began to cough. Her eyes stung, her throat constricted, and every breath burned. Piercing the silence was the unmistakable sound of a sprinkler, but she didn't feel wet at all.

"Mr. Smith," Oswald whispered loudly, shaking the sleeping figure. She pulled her apron to her face, panic mounting when he didn't stir. "Smith!"

He shifted position, coughing several times as his eyes slowly opened.

"What...?" he muttered, the rest of his sentence slurring into sleepy nonsense. He was much more awake a moment later when Oswald grabbed him by the arm, dragging him off the couch and forcing him up on his feet. Then, half pulling, half him stumbling along himself, she got him out of the room. Slamming the door behind her, Oswald slid to the ground, hacking and wiping the hot tears from her stinging eyes. The man slumped against the wall, rubbing his eyes vigorously and combing through his hair with his fingers, making it stick up even more than it had been before.

"You alright?" he finally asked. Ozzy nodded, still coughing. She wheeled around when she heard a door opening. The man was gone. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the door of his room and flung it open. Her eyes scanned the room, and fell on a strange object in the corner farthest from her. A large blue box, or at least, that's what it looked like, was sitting there, partly concealed in the shadows. A moment later, her view was blocked by the humanoid coming out of the room, holding a glass of water. He handed it to her, which she accepted gratefully.

"Thanks," she choked, gulping down the water.

"No problem," was the reply.

"You alright, sir?" Oswald asked. The guest seemed more confused than tired. He looked up and down the hallway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, it's just…" he paused, glancing this way and that, before looking down at her, "I'm sorry, and I may sound like a complete idiot, but could you tell me where I am and what day it is? 'Cause I'm a little lost right now as to what's going on."

Oswald blinked at the strange outburst.

"Um…you're in the Galvnaria Hotel; one of the finest and most well-known hotels in this part of the galaxy…at least, that's what I've heard. And today is November 21st. Somer's-Day is coming up in three days now."

The man nodded. "Good. OK; could you tell me _how_ I got here by any chance, and where my friend is currently?"

"You mean Ms. Jones, the one who came in with you?" Oswald frowned. "I'm not sure which room she's staying in right now, but I can certainly check the registration list, if you'd like."

"Registration list? I don't remember registering. Did we register here?"

"Yes," Oswald was starting to get really worried now. "Don't you remember? You came in, checked in, asked me what my name was? What's my name?"

He looked at her, hard, for several long seconds. The confusion was still there, but another expression was creeping in. It wasn't fear, exactly, but something similar to it.

"I don't know." The three words dropped like stones from his mouth. "I don't remember seeing you, or getting your name."

"What can you remember?"

"Oh, that bit's easy," he sniffed. "I was traveling in my spaceship with Martha – that's Ms. Jones – and I was thinking about doing something for her. Taking her somewhere nice, you know. She'd had it rough the past few weeks before…" he trailed off. "That was my fault, mostly," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "Anyway," he shook his head. "What's your name again?"

"Ozz-Oswald," she corrected quickly. "But you can call me Ozzy, if you want. All the other staff members do."

"Brilliant! Hello, Ozzy; pleased to make your acquaintance," the man took her hand in a firm handshake. "I'm the Doctor."

"You told me you were Mr. Smith," Oswald commented.

"Oh, did I? We-e-ell, that's a name that I go by sometimes."

"A fake identity?"

"Yep."

Oswald smirked. "I like you already."

He grinned, but it vanished a moment later. Moving her to one side, he went to the door of his bedroom and opened it.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you!" Ozzy cautioned.

"Would you look at that," the Doctor said from inside. Pulling her apron up to her mouth and nose, Oswald stepped inside. The Doctor was standing in the middle of the living room, hands in his pockets, head tilted back. "Sprinkler system going…but no water coming out." He stuck one finger in the air, then brought it to his mouth and licked it. A thoughtful expression came over his face.

"Funny…tastes like…"

"Smells like dinner to me," Oswald interjected.

"What?"

"Your room smells like the spices that they use in the food at this hotel," Ozzy explained. "They're imported from the Silurian system. The Taskmaster is very pleased about that."

"Ooh, a 'Taskmaster'. Like, or maybe don't like, the sound of that. Who is this 'Taskmaster'?"

Oswald, however, was too busy thinking to worry about the fact that the Doctor couldn't remember his encounter with the Taskmaster earlier that evening.

"The Silvernian system. He didn't say 'Silurian system'. He said 'Silvernian system'. What's the difference? Why would he say Silvernian system? That couldn't have just been a slip of the tongue." She glanced over at the Doctor, who now looked completely clueless.

"What are you going on about, Ozzy?"

She grinned.

"I think you and I have some research to do," she said, spinning on her heel and walking quickly towards the elevator. "There's a spice mix-up that we need to clear up, and I have just the book for the job!"

"And the Taskmaster?"

Ozzy glanced back over her shoulder.

"I wouldn't worry about that. Something tells me that we'll meet him."

* * *

 **OHMYGOSHYOUGUYS!**

 **I just put a very, VERY important reference into this chapter. *giggles manically***

 **Seriously, though; there's a piece of info in the chapter you just read that will be appearing again and again in my Doctor Who stories. You know, sort of like the whole "Silence will fall", and the "bees disappearing", and the "four knocks", and "Bad Wolf", ect., ect. Except that this isn't canon. And it may not be as awesome (although I personally think it's good enough to be made into an episode or two).**

 **So, anyhoo; if you have any thoughts or opinions on what the important information might be, don't hesitate to give your opinion in the comments! Yes; it's all right to do it even when you're certain you know what the answer is.**

 **I'll just sit here and wait to see what people think…**


	8. Oswald Who?

**Chapter 8, chapter 8, don't you know, I'm feelin' great…**

 **Hey, all! This story is actually almost done. I'm not sure how I feel about this yet; I mean, this is the first time I've ever actually finished a story that wasn't a one-shot.**

 **Yeah; I'm liking this whole set-up. Writing a whole story, then posting it while starting my next one…uh-huh. It's workin' out just fine.**

 **ANYhoo, I think I'll only get to 11 or 12 chapters (not including a short epilogue). So, yeah. Almost done…then I can start writing ones that I'm more interested in writing…this is gonna get hectic…**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **To the new comments: Yeah, I didn't find that chapter all too confusing. Then again, I guess that's because I've got the whole story typed up and in my head, so I know what's coming. I'm trying to write this mostly from Ozzy's point of view, so there is (obviously) some stuff that I'm leaving in the dark at the moment. However, starting with this chapter, I hope that some of your questions will begin to get answered. :)**

* * *

 **Also, sorry about the late post. Cudos to you for waiting!**

* * *

The Doctor lost Oswald.

Still getting over his exhaustion, he had shuffled slowly after the retreating figure. Location-wise, the only thing he knew was that she had taken one of the lifts. So here he was in the lobby, wandering around, completely clueless as to where she had vanished to. Even so, he didn't dare call out. He had no idea what or who resided in this hotel; whether there was any nighttime security on patrol, or whether this "Taskmaster" made his own rounds. In short, whatever he used to know about this place was no longer accessible, and he was traveling on virtually unknown territory.

"Wonderful, Doctor," he muttered to himself. "Try and get away for a bit, give your companion a break; end up in a dark, scary hotel, ominous-sounding 'Taskmaster' lurking around, no one to help you but a spunky teen, and on top of that…memory loss." He sighed. "Not quite going as planned."

A small sound caused him to freeze in place. Crouching down slightly, he moved his way towards the front doors. There! Something was moving near the doors. The Taskmaster? Ozzy? There was only one way for the Doctor to find out. He straightened up, peering into the darkened hallway.

"Hey, you!" he called. An object scuffled behind the front desk. With a sigh of aggravation, the Doctor walked towards it.

"I saw you, you know," he commented, reaching down into the black space between the wall and the desk. He felt something, grabbed it tightly. A hard yank, and a humanoid with thick black hair and four-fingered hands came up by the coat collar. They stared at each other silently for a long moment.

"So…Bad day to try and run off, huh?" the boy finally asked. "Just my luck. Trence, by the way."

* * *

As it turned out, Oswald had run to the kitchen. A small bookshelf stood in the corner of the spacious room, worn-out paperbacks spilling off of the shelves and stacked in small heaps on the floor. Perched precariously on the top-most shelf was the book that Trence had given her just that evening. Oh, how long ago that moment seemed.

"Spice section, spice section," she muttered under her breath, flipping the pages. She squinted at the fine print on the pages. She hadn't dared to turn on a light.

"Here we go; Silurian and Silvernian." Oswald glanced around the empty room, listening intently for any noises outside. Then she bent over the book, dragging her finger along the page as she read.

"These two systems are well-known for their spices. Many of the same spices are grown on the planets in these systems. There are several, however, which…"

"…Which are indigenous to the Silvernian system alone," a male voice completed her sentence. Oswald started to her feet, dropping the book.

"Taskmaster?" she breathed.

"You're clever, Oswald," he continued, fixing his eyes on her. "That's one of the reasons why I chose you from the others all those years ago," he paused. "But sometimes I wish that wasn't a strong point of yours. Especially now."

"What have you been doing?" Oswald was shaking, but her voice was strangely calm. "Silurian System, Silvernian System. Guests unable to remember events from the day before…"

"Oh, so you know _that_ part too, then?" he questioned. "So he's awake, then. Is he wandering around this building, trying to find answers as well?"

"I don't know who you're talking about."

The Taskmaster reached out, grabbing her arm and dragging her from the kitchen.

"Mr. Smith will be taken care of," he stated, "but first, there are some things that I need to explain to you."

"Let me go!" she hissed, planting her feet in the ground and pulling back with all her might. It was no use, though. The Taskmaster was much stronger; they both knew that. He yanked hard, almost sending her off her feet.

"I will scream," she threatened, "I will yell and bring everyone running. You'll be tried, and whatever you've been doing will be revealed, and you'll be put into prison, and then punished!"

"First things first," the Taskmaster broke in, turning to face her. "You're name's not Oswald."

She stared at him in mute shock, her threats forgotten.

* * *

 **Dun-dun-DUUUUUUUUUN!**

 **Here we go; next chapter will be up soon! Don't really have anything to say, except for what's already written. This is actually the shortest chapter for this story so far. All my other chapters for any story tend to be between 1,100-1,200 words long, but sometimes even longer than that. So, yeah; that's my rambling for the day.**


	9. Two Options and a Weed

**Chapter 9! Only two or three chapters to go, you guys. I hope you've been enjoying this story; like I said many times before, I've got more interesting ones to type after this one, so if you're not loving this story, just bear with me!**

 **Also, completely out-of-the-blue, I was thinking about Wholock (one of the best cross-overs ever, in my opinion), and I was wondering: who really** _ **would**_ **win a battle if the two met? Sherlock, or the Doctor? I was thinking that maybe the Doctor would win if it was a battle with weapons, but I think they'd reach a checkmate pretty darn quickly if it was a battle of wits.**

 **So…who do** _ **you**_ **think would win? Doctor, or Sherlock?**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **I realized in my last chapter that I didn't address** **33 Vi** **'s last review. As to that:**

 **1) It took me** _ **FOREVER**_ **to get this good. I mean it sincerely. When I started on this site, I was awful. If you check out some of my work at the bottom of my profile, you can see a huge difference between then and now. I know it's super cliché, but you just have to keep writing. Everyone has the potential to write amazing stuff; I'm sad that not more people on this site seem to know how to write well.**

 **2) Obviously, the Doctor's not gonna die, and Clara/Oswald is gonna die. I'm not promising you won't cry, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see.**

 **3) Silvernian System…good guess. That is pretty important in this story, but I was talking about a reference with a much broader scope, similar to Bad Wolf. In a way, you weren't wrong, but Silvernian System wasn't what I had in mind. But cudos to you for getting the Silvernian System right off!**

* * *

 **And yes, I'm posting this earlier than usual. I remembered like…this morning…that I was gonna be gone over the weekend, and I didn't want to leave you guys hanging like last week. :P So here's the next chapter! And thank you for all those new people who faved/read/followed this story!**

* * *

The Taskmaster didn't say anything else until they had reached his office, which was a small room tucked away on the first floor of the building. A large desk, covered in papers, dominated the room. Some fake plants were placed in the corners. The windows were shuttered and locked. Letting go of her arm only after he had shut and locked the door, the Taskmaster directed her to the seat in front of the desk.

"What's my name?" she asked as the Taskmaster lowered himself into a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"Your name is Clara," he said, "Clara Oswald Oswin. I picked you up from an orphanage when you were only six."

"Six? I started working here when I was fourteen. I'm nineteen now."

The Taskmaster shook his head. "Osw-Clara, Silvernian spices are, for the most part, the same as the spices grown in the Silurian System. However, there are some that are indigenous _only_ to the Silvernian System. For example," he pulled open a desk drawer, pulling out a vial and handing it to Clara.

"That," he pointed to the small glass case, "holds one of the spices used in many meals here, in very low concentrations. That is Slipweed."

"What does it do?"

"It has two primary functions, actually. It first acts as a depressant, causing mainly drowsiness, and inhibiting judgment and thought skills. But it has a much more deadly side-effect, especially when taken over a long period of time or in high concentrations." He looked at her knowingly. "How about you try and guess what that is?"

Clara looked at the crushed leaves in the vial. Her mind raced through the events of that night so far. Suddenly, she knew.

"It makes people forget things."

"Exactly. It poisons the mind; the longer it's taken, or the larger the amount at one time, the more someone forgets."

"But why use it on one of the guests?"

"He was getting in my way. He was a clever man; I could tell when we…met."

"So you've been using this in every meal, for who-knows-how-long?"

"Not every meal; the highest concentration is actually given to the staff."

Clara placed the vial on the desk. "The staff?"

"Of course," the Taskmaster opened another drawer and pulled out a small blaster. "And now, you only have two choices, Clara. You're allergic, so high concentrations would kill you. Not that you're the only one," he commented, shrugging. "I've never been able to take it myself, even if I had wanted to. I put traces of the drug onto those letters that I know you read every night, but that's not enough to make you forget what's happened here for a long time. I can have no guarantee from you that you'd start reading those again."

"Those are fake? Those letters from my mom are fake?"

"Your whole life has been a fake. You and the whole staff here are nothing more than drugged slaves. This hotel is just one of many locations that are part of an undercover, very intricate organization dedicated to the preparation, transportation, and selling of slaves, usually to very wealthy guests who come here." Standing up, he pointed the gun at her head. Clara froze in the seat, eyes fixed to the gun. She hardly knew what to think or say.

"So what are my two options?" she managed to ask.

"You can join the organization," the Taskmaster began, his voice soft and smooth, "help with the transportation of slaves, inherit this hotel when I'm dead, and express undying loyalty to those who head this organization. Or I kill you. Right now." He paused. "Choose."

Clara stared at the gun. She swallowed several times, trying to find her voice. Live a slave, selling other innocent people as slaves, or death? Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud, high-pitched buzzing noise coming from behind her. The door swung open, and two figures burst into the room. The first one, a shorter man with black hair, launched himself at the Taskmaster.

"Oswald!" the other shouted. Clara wheeled around.

"Doctor!" she yelled. The Doctor reached out, grabbing her hand and pulling her from the room.

"Trence!" he called from the doorway.

"Go!" came the voice from within. "I'll hold him up. You both go! Now!"

"But Trence!" Clara had no time to look back, as the Doctor was already dragging her through the lobby and towards the elevators.

"Doctor!" Clara struggled to get free of his iron grip.

"Not now, Oswald," he snapped. "We need to get to safety."

"But Doctor! I know what's wrong!"

The Doctor wheeled around and looked at her.

"What?"

"Slipweed," she panted. "It's Slipweed. It's a drug, and the Taskmaster has been using it to make people forget things about their own lives. Then he sells them as slaves to the people who come here. People like me," she whispered.

The Doctor crouched down, gripping her arms and staring into her eyes. "Oswald, I promise you, right now, that we're gonna get out of this. You and I. We'll set everything straight. But right now," he straightened up and took her hand securely in his. "We've gotta run."

* * *

 **So here's what's been going on. Clara's been drugged, the Doctor's been drugged, Trence is in trouble, the Taskmaster's furious, and other stuff is going down. Don't ask me why the other people in the hotel aren't waking up; maybe the featured characters are just being really quiet while running around and almost getting killed.**


	10. You Never Go Back

**The big 1-0! I'm gettin' this done, working hard, typing fast…**

 **OK; actually, I'm not sure if fanfiction counts as "working hard", but you know. Whatever floats my goat.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **33 Vi** **: 1) That's a good point about the Wholock question. I guess Sherlock would be floored if the universe came up. :)**

 **2) I don't think you should sweat about whether or not you like Sherlock better than Doctor Who. I put that I liked Doctor Who better in the author's note of one of my Sherlock one-shots and I haven't been flamed yet.**

 **3) Yeah…about that. I actually just went through and deleted a lot of things because I found them annoying. However, I kept the things I really liked on my profile.**

 **4) That's a good suggestion. Either drugged, or as one commenter pointed out, possibly the soundproofing's better in the future. I'll leave it up to imagination; I didn't really think on this question.**

 **Jesuslovesmarina** **: Thank you so much for the comment! Yeah, maybe the gun's a bit cliché, but it works for me. *shrugs* The Slipweed is making a comeback, anyway.**

 **Riolyne:** **Welcome to the story! I always love getting new reviews. I'm glad you like how it's going so far, and I hope you'll stick around until the end! Also, I like your explanation of why no one's waking up. I never really put much thought into the predicament myself. :P**

* * *

 **Also, I guess now I should make a disclaimer. I don't own Doctor Who. If I did, the spin-off series featuring TenToo and Rose would've happened, and my stories would be episodes. Also, I would let Clara make cameos during Nine's and Ten's seasons. :P**

* * *

The Taskmaster struggled to his feet. Trence clung to his back, trying to wrap his hands around the Taskmaster's neck. Stumbling backwards, the Taskmaster slammed against the wall, his form shifting as he did so. Short spikes all along his arms and back ground into Trence's stomach. With a moan, his grip loosened, and he slid to the floor. Reaching over to the desk, the Taskmaster slammed down on a panel.

"Deadlock the building," he spat. Then he turned to Trence, who was still on the floor. "You shouldn't have tried to help them."

Trence sat up, breathing heavily. "What can I say? I never liked working here anyway." He grinned weakly. "Besides, I'd do anything for Ozzy."

"That's not her name," the Taskmaster murmured. He raised the gun, pointing it at Trence's head.

* * *

Clara and the Doctor reached the door just as the deadlock command was activated. Muttering alien words under his breath, the Doctor pulled a small metal object from his pocket and pointed it at the doorframe.

"Deadlocked," he seethed. "My sonic's not gonna do any good. What do you think, Oswald? Any other way we could get in or out?"

Clara opened her mouth to respond. The silence was shattered by two shots, one consecutively after the other.

"Trence," Clara squeezed the name from her throat. She turned to run back, but the Doctor seized her arm.

"Oswald. Oswald! Don't go back. You hear me?" He pulled on her arm, forcing her to look at him. "You don't go back. It'll get you killed."

After a moment, she stopped struggling and nodded wordlessly.

"There's got to be another way out," he muttered, looking around. "Martha!" he exclaimed loudly, whacking himself in the head. "All this time, and I completely forgot about her…"

"Then let's split up," Clara said. "You go get your friend, I'll find an alternate exit route. I can talk to you on the intercoms; I know how they work. Worst case scenario, meet me back here in the lobby after twenty minutes. Or less. Actually, try to make it back in less than fifteen," she twisted her arm from his hand. "Got it?"

He looked at her for a long moment. She supposed that he was wondering if he could trust to leave her alone.

"Don't go back," he finally said, searching her face for…something.

"I won't." She looked him squarely in the eyes. He nodded, a relieved look crossing his face.

"Right, then; I'll get Martha, and we'll meet down here…no!" he whacked his head again. "So stupid, I'm forgetting things left and right, with or without Slipweed. Go back to my room. My ship is in there."

"Your…ship?"

"Yes; it looks like a blue box."

"That's your ship?"

"Yes! Granted, I can't remember parking it there, but still, there you go."

"Alright; how about, run now, sort through forgotten details later?"

The Doctor nodded. "Fair plan. See you soon, Ozzy."

"You too, Doctor."

The skinny humanoid dashed towards the elevators, leaving Ozzy alone. She took a shaky breath, her mind wheeling with too many thoughts. Several were beginning to stick out, and she knew what she had to do.

"Sorry, Doc, but there's no other way."

Footsteps sounded somewhere in the lobby. She froze, heart pounding, ears ringing.

"Clara?" the Taskmaster purred in the darkness. She inhaled, exhaled slowly. And then she stood up.

"Looking for me, sir?"

In the black, something moved towards her.

"Let Trence's fate be a lesson to you, Clara," came the voice. "Don't throw your life away simply because of a slightly disturbed conscience, or for the sake of meddlesome sentiment."

"You want me?" Clara found herself smiling, despite the horribleness of the situation. Fresh vigor and strength rushed through her, and she felt more alive than she ever had before. "Come and get me, alien boy."

With that, she turned and ran towards the opposite end of the lobby.

* * *

 **Writing short chapters…wow. Look at that. These three past chapters have actually been pretty short, compared to what I usually write. Still, I guess there's nothing wrong with that. I think it's officially two more chapters after this, and then it's over. OK; I lied a little. There will be an epilogue, but that's not really part of this current story, per se, so I don't think it really counts. And don't worry, this epilogue won't be as heartbreaking as Amy's epilogue in** _ **The Angels Take Manhattan**_ **. I don't think anyone could write an epilogue that sad. At least, that's me personally.**

 **What's the saddest moment of Doctor Who for you, personally? Just thought I'd spew a random question, since that's what I did in the last chapter.**


	11. Free and Forgotten

**So here I am, typing three chapters on the same day, almost consecutively.**

 **I don't always write fanfiction; but when I do, I write the whole story in one day.**

 ***Just imagine that the past sentence was on a "I don't always…but when I do" meme***

 **Again, thanks for reading and reviewing. Let's get a move on!**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **33 Vi** **: Oh, yeah. Clara dying is always sad. And thank you for the praise! I do really like how this story turned out myself.**

 **Jesuslovesmarina:** **You could hear Clara's voice? Awesome! That must mean that I'm keeping things (relatively) in-character. Yay, me! Yep, forgetting Martha left and right. Poor Martha. She needs/deserves more love from fans, I think.**

 **WHY DID YOU HAVE TO REMIND ME OF END OF TIME?! That episode…I just… "I don't wanna go." And I lose it. Every. Single. Time.**

* * *

The main control room was located on the first floor of the hotel, aka the lobby. What made it super obvious was that the words "Control Room" were written in huge, all caps letters smack on the doors. This was pretty helpful for Clara, who was trying to find the main control room in a darkened lobby with a killer shape-shifting alien coming after her. When she found the doors, she shoved hard, praying that the doors weren't deadlocked. Very fortunately for her, they swung open soundlessly as she put pressure on them. Once safely inside, she ran over to one of the walls. They were lined, filled with panels and buttons and switches and crisscrossing wires, all of which looked very complex and somewhat intimidating. Clara Oswin wasn't daunted, however. She had been in this room many times, and she knew exactly which section of wall she was looking for.

As she opened panel boxes, peering inside and flipping several switches and turning a couple dials, the intercom buzzed to life.

"Ozzy?" a voice crackled from the com.

"Doctor?" Clara pushed some more buttons. "Did you find Martha yet?"

"Working on it. I was wondering if you had the registration list with you. That would speed up my search greatly."

"Umm…yeah; not gonna happen." Clara glanced over her shoulder at the doors. "I'm not leaving this room anytime soon. He's gonna find me any moment now."

"Where are you, exactly?"

"I'm in the main control room, on the lobby."

"What're you doing down there? Isn't that where the Taskmaster is?"

"Yeah…" Clara trailed off. "That was sort of the plan."

"What plan? Oswald, what are you doing?"

Clara smiled softly. "I'm going to save the world."

"Ozzy, whatever you're doing, it can wait. Just get out of there, get to safety. I can meet up with you, and we can figure something out together. Just wait for me."

"Sorry, Foxy," she turned to see the Taskmaster standing in the doorway. "I just got found."

* * *

The Doctor stood on his side of the intercom, listening to the static. After a tense moment of silence, he turned on his heel, rushing down the nearest flight of stairs, back to the lobby.

* * *

"You're not going to give in, are you?" the Taskmaster asked.

"And you're not going to convince me," Clara retorted stoutly. "Go ahead and kill me; the Doctor will end this. I know he will. Your slave-selling days are over."

"He's next," the Taskmaster hissed vehemently. "Him and his friend. I'll make him forget everything he ever was and send him to chip ice out of the coal mines on Bivnar. Workers there only last a couple months."

"You know, something tells me that that plan of yours might not work out."

The Taskmaster twisted his head around. The Doctor was standing directly behind him.

"And you wanna know why? 'Cause I don't think you have a high-enough concentration of Slipweed to make someone forget whole centuries." He took a step forward, letting the doors swing shut behind him. The two aliens stood, tense and silent. With a cry, the Taskmaster lunged forward, grabbing the Doctor by the waist. The two were rolling on the floor, one on top of the other. The Taskmaster made it out on top, and he brought his fist down on the Doctor's face. Over and over, he ground his spiked hand down, leaving bloody scrapes.

"Hey, Taskmaster!" Clara piped. The Taskmaster turned towards her, hand suspended in mid-strike.

"You told me that you couldn't handle the weed," she explained, flipping a switch and closing the panel. "And you've got the weed into one of the most important systems in this building, somehow. So I'm assuming that you couldn't take ten minutes of the drug filling this room from the sprinkler system, huh?"

The Taskmaster's eyes went wide, and he flung himself off of the Doctor. But it was too late. Before he had a chance to come near her or the panels, the sprinkler system activated. No water fell, but the air was growing thicker by the second. The Doctor scrambled to his hands and knees. The drug was beginning to affect him too. A wave of drowsiness washed over him.

"Oswald," he called weakly. Somewhere in the room, he could hear coughing.

Clara slid down the wall, curling into a ball. She could see the Taskmaster writhing on the floor, moaning as his body responded to the Slipweed. Over his groans, she heard the Doctor calling to her.

"Yeah?" she asked, before hacking again. Her throat was squeezing; she could barely breathe.

"I'm not…I'm not going to remember any of this."

"Don't worry; I won't remember this either. And that's one less death for you to bemoan." She gulped, trying to get air into her lungs. "No one should have to live with that."

The Doctor's flesh crawled as what Clara said sunk in. She hadn't told him…but her coughing in his room…oh, how blind and stupid he was.

"But I'm not going to remember any of this adventure…I'm not going to remember meeting you."

"That's OK," she tried to smile; hot tears stained her cheeks. "We had fun, though. Thanks for that. And sorry about the soufflé."

He grinned. "I always knew it was you."

"Yeah; I figured." She coughed again. How much longer could she last?

"I liked your poem."

She blinked quickly, trying to keep from bawling. Such a small, meaningless sentence, but now she was on the brink of breaking down entirely.

"Just run. That's just like you, isn't it? Run, you clever boy. Run…and remember me."

The Doctor attempted to crawl across the floor, but the exhaustion was too much. He slipped to the ground, wounds stinging from exposure to the drug-filled air. Everything around him began to fade, blurring and finally turning to darkness.

Clara looked around the room. The air was hazy with Slipweed. She didn't have the strength to cough, and she was too tired to keep fighting the choking any longer.

"Aren't you proud of me, Mom?" she gasped. "I'm coming to meet you now. See you soon."

Her brown eyes fluttered shut, and her breath slowed as the tears stopped flowing. Eventually, her breathing stopped altogether.

* * *

 **So, yeah. That's why he doesn't remember meeting her, you guys. 'Cause he forgets. And by the way, all of the planets and systems that have been mentioned throughout this story are all completely made up by me. None of them appear in Doctor Who (if they do, it's a coincidence and I had no idea beforehand that they were in any of the episodes).**

 **I guess I'll leave you guys to your Clara feels. See you for the next chapter!**


	12. Forever Moving Forward

**Final chapter, everyone!**

 **Thanks to those who read and reviewed this story, and to those who will read and review in the future! I hope you enjoyed this, and I will be sure to start my next not-a-one-shot Doctor Who story soon! It will be called _Ctrl + C,_ and I will probably start posting it next week, on the same day that I will be posting the EPILOGUE TO THIS STORY.**

 **Anyhoo, random question of the chapter: Do you think that Moriarty (from BBC Sherlock) and the Master would make a good team? Or do you think that the Master would control Moriarty and make him into his personal man-slave? I personally think the second option, but what do you guys think?**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!**

 **ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **Jesuslovesmarina:** **Yes, Clara is dead. And I'd have to agree with you; I don't know why the Doctor is never attacked head-on.**

 **ErinKenobi2893:**

 **I don't want to give too much away, so before answering your question, how much Doctor Who have you seen? If you've seen enough to know the basics, then I suggest you go to Season 6 (or 7), and watch the episode called _Asylum of the Daleks._ Then fast-forward to the episode _The Snowmen_ , and watch all the episodes from there to _The Name of the Doctor._ That will explain all you need to know about Clara dying (and no, it's not really an alternate Clara, but it is at the same time. It's sort of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey).**

 **If you aren't that familiar with Doctor Who, then I'd suggest watching all of NewWho, either starting at the beginning with Nine, or watching the seasons with Eleven first, and then going backwards from there. :)**

 **I watch Doctor Who via Netflix, and it has all of NewWho up to the Eleventh Doctor. Hope this answers your questions!**

* * *

The three bodies were found early the next morning when a staff member went to the control room to turn on the main lights in the hotel. Two of them, a hotel worker and the hotel owner, were dead. The third, a skinny humanoid with no identification on him at all, was unconscious.

When Martha heard about all the commotion, she knew that the Doctor was involved, even before she heard descriptions of the figures. Slipping into jeans and a t-shirt, she ran downstairs. The Doctor was lying on one of the lobby couches, surrounded by a group of muttering staff and gossiping guests, all of whom were trying to deduce what had happened. Martha gasped when she saw the scratches running down his face. Nothing that time wouldn't heal, but still. A couple seconds later, the Doctor's eyes snapped open and he sat up, rubbing his face.

"Ow! That smarts!" He glanced around, hand still on his face. "Whah…What?! What's going on?" He caught sight of Martha and grinned. "Martha! There you are! What's all this, then?" he motioned to the crowd.

"You were unconscious," Martha began in a businesslike manner.

"OK, yes, I gathered that. But where are we? How did we get here? How long have we been here? We haven't been abducted, have we? I was going to take you somewhere nice."

"One question at a time, mister," Martha exclaimed. "We're in a hotel."

"A hotel?! How - You know what, nevermind," the Doctor waved his hand. "I don't think I have what it takes to sort through this. WAIT!" He leaned forward, gripping Martha's arms tightly. He brought his face inches from her own.

"There was something…something very important. Oh, what was it!" He released her, slamming his forehead with both of his hands. He rubbed them through his hair and down his face, wincing.

"Forgot those scratches were there," he muttered to himself. His eyes went wide. "OH! Yes! Martha!"

"What?"

"We need to investigate."

"Investigate what? The hotel?"

"I have no clue." The Doctor shook his head. "But there is a part of me that thinks that an investigation would be very, very good. So let's start with the hotel."

* * *

It didn't take too much investigating to discover proof that Slipweed had been delivered to the Galvnaria Hotel for years, and that its owner, simply known as "the Taskmaster", was part of an organization dedicated to abducting all types of life forms and transforming them into slaves. As to any other members of the organization, that would require deeper digging.

The girl who had been found, known to the other staff as Oswald Oswin, would be given a proper burial. Speaking of the other staff, it was assumed (correctly) that they had been drugged for years. Much of their life before they came to the hotel was lost, and the chances that those memories could be recovered were very slim. However, it was assured that they would be placed in good care; in fact, several of the guests volunteered to on-the-spot adopt some of the members.

The Doctor was to be kept for questioning, since he was the only one from the control room still alive. Rumors were already circulating, saying that he had killed the Taskmaster himself, and that this "Oswald" had died helping him. But only about an hour after he woke up, both he and another guest, Ms. Jones her name was, were reported missing. No one could find them on the hotel territory, or within a 20-mile radius of the building. The blue box was gone, too, but this detail wasn't important for many of the people there, since none of them had seen it in the first place.

* * *

 **There we go! It's done. Hoped you guys enjoyed "Room Service", and I'll be seeing you soon (hopefully) with a new story!**

 **NOTE: THERE IS AN EPILOGUE TO THIS STORY. IT WILL BE POSTED NEXT WEEK, AND THEN THIS STORY WILL BE OFFICIALLY OVER. Thanks again for the favs/reviews/follows/reading!**


	13. Epilogue: No Matter Where You Are

**Epilogue, epilogue, workin' on an epilogue…makin' references, watchin' all my tenses, better not let down your defenses…dum, da-da-da-dum…**

 **SO…here's the final (really) part of my Room Service story.**

 **THE NEXT DOCTOR WHO STORY THAT I WILL BE POSTING IS CALLED _Hopping for Our Lives_. Feel free to check it out!**

 **Also, something for all you Wholockians out there: if you want to watch some really good Wholock trailer, I would suggest "Elysium" by Ptyrx (at least, I think that's how you spell his/her name). Anyhoo, just type in "Elysium Wholock trailer" on Youtube. It's clean, so don't worry.**

 **Another good trailer (one that my sista' happens to really like) is called "The Villain". Again, you can find it on Youtube, and it's clean.**

 **Also, while you're at it, look up the BBC Sherlock trailer "Shell Shocked", and then go read the fan-fic that that fake trailer is originally based on. No, it's not one of my stories, but it's an amazingly well-written one. It's a one-shot, so it won't take all day to read (unlike this really long opening of mine). That one is good, too, but a bit more mature in its theme.**

 **So there's your fandom homework, class.**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

"Right this way, Mrs. Cornan…" the boy stuttered to a halt, scanning the trees. This was the fifth or sixth time he had lost the professional investigator and botanist extraordinaire. Mrs. Cornan came from a nearby planet that had a lot of forests, and primitive weaponry compared to the artillery which neighboring planets possessed. So the species of that planet had developed an alternative defense: camouflage. Now, camouflage was perfect if you were being shot at in a forest; it was more of an annoyance when the person kept disappearing on you because you happened to be walking through the shady part of a lawn.

"Keep going, Fabrian," a voice snapped, and Mrs. Cornan appeared. Her skin was grayish in color, her hair grayish-brown. Her outfit was green, spotted and flecked with dark spots, like sunlight filtering through leaves. "Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not there."

Fabrian hurried on to the corner of the building. Ever since the Taskmaster had been found dead, an extensive search had been conducted. Its purpose was to find every and any bit of Slipweed on the premise, as well as any information concerning some organization. To be honest, Fabrian hadn't really been listening to the conversation. All he had heard was "investigators are going to be investigating outside; go with them because you know what the property's like and they don't."

"See here?" he motioned to a patch of trees that were clustered by the corner of the hotel. "You can't see that bit of wall from most angles. You have to go past the trees in order to see it. But the Taskmaster always wanted _every_ part of the building to be clean; even those parts that people couldn't see. I washed this part only a few days ago, what with Somer's-Day coming up and all, but it might be a good place to grow the spill-weed."

"Slipweed," Mrs. Cornan corrected crisply.

Without bothering to reply, Fabrian went behind the trees and vanished from sight. Only a few seconds later, he emerged again, scrambling through the branches and running over to Mrs. Cornan.

"Come on!" he yelled, grabbing her hand and dragging through the trees. She brushed past the clinging twigs, not bothered by the leaves and bits of wood that stuck in her braided hair.

"Look at that," Fabrian pointed to the wall. The white surface had been tainted by black strokes. A long, thick mark sprouted near the bottom of the wall, curving upward and tapering as it got higher. Branching out from this center line were six more strokes, three on each side. Three of them curved upward, pointing to the sky, growing smaller. Three more on the other side, curving downward, again becoming smaller. At the end of each of the six marks, a small black dot hovered in the air.

"This wasn't here a few days ago. Could this be a symbol for Slipweed?" Fabrian asked excitedly. "It looks a little like a plant to me."

"What makes you say that?" Mrs. Cornan didn't sound so snappish.

"Well, the tall stroke in the middle is like a stem, and the six strokes are like petals, and maybe the dots are fruit, or something." He looked back at Mrs. Cornan. "Should I call someone over here?"

"No. You shouldn't." Mrs. Cornan shook her head. "It's just some graffiti. Go back around and find a rag or something. I want this wiped off immediately."

"But, what if-"

"NOW!" she exploded. With a confused expression, Fabrian rushed off.

Mrs. Cornan turned back to the image, examining it closely. Slowly, she reached out a hand, fingers brushing against the paint. It was tacky, and black marks stained her fingertips.

"What are you doing here?" she murmured, looking around quickly. "What do you want? Who are you looking for?"

There was no response but the wind waving the tree branches, and the chirping of several birds.

* * *

 **Alrighty; officially over. This epilogue (for those who might not have guessed) is leading into a plot (hopefully) that will be featured in my later Doctor Who stories. Again, thanks so much for reading this story!**


End file.
